f her countenance vivified while it chastened me. I loved
her ... I must not say _more_ than ever ... _better_ than ever; it was
Fiametta who had inhabited the skies. As my hand opened toward her:

'Beware!' said she, faintly smiling; 'beware, Giovanni! Take only the
crystal; take it, and drink again.'

'Must all be then forgotten?' said I sorrowfully.

'Remember your prayer and mine, Giovanni. Shall both have been
granted ... oh, how much worse than in vain?'

I drank instantly; I drank largely. How cool my bosom grew; how could
it grow so cool before her! But it was not to remain in its
quiescency; its trials were not yet over. I will not, Francesco! no, I
may not commemorate the incidents she related to me, nor which of us
said, 'I blush for having loved _first_;' nor which of us replied,
'Say _least_, say _least_, and blush again.'

The charm of the words (for I felt not the encumbrance of the body nor
the acuteness of the spirit) seemed to possess me wholly. Although the
water gave me strength and comfort, and somewhat of celestial
pleasure, many tears fell around the border of the vase as she held it
up before me, exhorting me to take courage, and inviting me with more
than exhortation to accomplish my deliverance. She came nearer, more
tenderly, more earnestly; she held the dewy globe with both hands,
leaning forward, and sighed and shook her head, drooping at my
pusillanimity. It was only when a ringlet had touched the rim, and
perhaps the water (for a sunbeam on the surface could never have given
it such a golden hue), that I took courage, clasped it, and exhausted
it. Sweet as was the water, sweet as was the serenity it gave me ...
alas! that also which it moved away from me was sweet!

'This time you can trust me alone,' said she, and parted my hair, and
kissed my brow. Again she went toward the brook: again my agitation,
my weakness, my doubt, came over me: nor could I see her while she
raised the water, nor knew I whence she drew it. When she returned,
she was close to me at once: she smiled: her smile pierced me to the
bones: it seemed an angel's. She sprinkled the pure water on me; she
looked most fondly; she took my hand; she suffered me to press hers to
my bosom; but, whether by design I cannot tell, she let fall a few
drops of the chilly element between.

'And now, O my beloved!' said she, 'we have consigned to the bosom of
God our earthly joys and sorrows. The joys cannot return, let not the
s